


Dangerous Game

by communikate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Identities, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternative Universe - Super Heroes, Fluff, Ice!Lance, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), fire!Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/communikate/pseuds/communikate
Summary: In a city of monsters and demons, Lance serves as a hero protecting the people - however, his alley, Red, is serving as more than just a distraction from his work.





	Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for ifellfromtheskies for the Klance Secret Santa Exchange!! ((check out their amazing art [here](https://https://ifellfromtheskies.tumblr.com)!!))
> 
> Shout out to [Malevelynce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malevelynce/pseuds/Malevelynce) for being my amazing beta!! <3
> 
> I hope that you enjoy it!!! <3 - and thank you Fell for the wonderful prompts!

“You came,” Lance exhaled, breath frosting in the warm summer air. He sat perched on the ledge at the edge of the roof, feet dangling over the side and swinging, rubber heels of his shoes hitting the brick and sending a dust of aged mortar to the alley seven stories below.

He gazed over his shoulder to the sound he had heard, a soft sizzle of heated soles on the mossy puddles of water that dripped from the condensation coating the air conditioning unit. Red stood against the vibrant lights of the city with his hair wild around his shoulders and his mask a little esque.

“We can’t keep doing this, Blue,” his voice was gruff, as he stepped forward to sit on the wall next to Lance, one foot curled under himself while the other stayed firmly planted on the roof. His eyes never met Lance’s, just passing glances as they surveyed the city where one helicopter still hovered over the mess of their earlier battleground.

An unfamiliar supervillain had been caught robbing Altea Industries, obviously underestimating Pidge’s high tech security measures that Allura had paid almost 5 million dollars for. (Pidge’s only response to Allura was, “You know I’m worth it.”) Lance had stumbled onto the scene seconds after Red and five minutes after the heroes were signaled, wanting nothing more than to persuade Red into another meeting rather than fight the villain.

Lance turned to face Red, placing a hand on the edge of the wall between them and leaning forward. “Then why do you keep coming, Red?”

Violet eyes danced to meet Lance’s gaze. He could hear the small intake of breath Red made and smell the scent of char and cinnamon that radiated from him. His fingers crept closer, desiring to feel the heat that was emanating from Red’s skin, to drag his fingers along the contours in Red’s uniform, a take on the famous Japanese samurai: kevlar armor, lining his chest and shoulders and fanning around his hips like a skirt with elegant plating. Two swords dangled in his belt, a katana and a wakizashi, however Red normally opted for his powers over the swords. But it never hurt to be well-supplied in their field.

Lance could barely remember the traditional, bulky helmet that Red had worn during his debut under the famous hero of their city, the Black Paladin. He’d only worn it that once, since then opting for the finely-decorated, red mask.

“Maybe I like the danger.” Red smirked, but there was a stiffness to his motions, a subtle shift of his shoulders.

Lance reached out, brushing seeking fingertips along Red’s exposed jawline, porcelain skin, glowing blue in the advertisement that flashed across the nearest electronic billboard.

Fingers sizzled as they met heated skin.

Red didn’t pull away, almost sinking into Lance’s touch. Flurries of ice waltzed in Lance’s lungs as his breath stalled, watching the way the other hero’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of touch.

“I’m not dangerous,” Lance purred, pulling himself closer to Red, longing to feel the heat of his skin, singeing on the edge of painful even against his instinctive chilly temperament.

“You’re more dangerous than you think, Blue,” Red sighed, hot breath skimming the tender skin of Lance’s wrist.

Red opened his eyes and seemed to take Lance in: the strong build of his shoulders, defined by the striking design of his suit, the frost that had crept from his scalp and formed along strands of hair when he had overused his powers in the battle, and the way his mask curled along his brow bone and highlighted his eyes.

He brought a hand to the front of Lance’s suit, fingers catching in the loose fabric that flowed overtop the spandex, giving him the appearance of snow before it pillowed on the ground. Red’s eyes slipped closed, leaning closer to Lance as his fingers curled along the samurai’s jaw.

“Red,” he exhaled before their lips touched, a soft sizzle in the hushed night. Lips slotted together, a tentative kind of kiss, the way all of their kisses began. Red’s fingers dug harsher into Lance’s uniform, tugging him dangerously across the edge of the wall until their chests brushes with every stolen inhalation.

Lance wound his fingers into Red’s hair, fingers playing dangerously with the ends of the ribbons that tied Red’s mask.

They parted, breaths mingling, steaming and frosting. Their foreheads pressed together, noses brushes and eyes still closed.

“How am I dangerous?” Lance whispered, hands twitching to fists in Red’s hair. There had been too many nights when he’d complained to Hunk about Red - the way he’d risen to fame so quickly in their city overrun by demons and monsters and robeasts, the way he’d outdone Lance in every fight, and how Lance’s hatred had stemmed from admiration and a means to mask his insecurities.

But then Red’s mentor, the Black Paladin, had been severely injured. Red was by his side when rings of fire surrounded them and threatened to burn the whole city to ashes. The Black Paladin had been retired ever since.

And Lance had seen Red snap. Ruthless and callous and bloodthirsty in every following battle. Lance had to calm Red with shards of ice when he went too far, burning criminals and charring the tips of his own fingers when overexerting his powers. Ferocious and snarling and almost feral.

Calling Red up to the roof the first time hadn’t been for stolen kisses in the dim lights of the city. It had been some half-hearted means to understand and to help. Red stood on the edge of the roof, arms crossed and looking out at the city while Lance had talked - stammered through a one-sided conversation.

But after their next battle Lance found Red on the roof again, sitting on the edge with his lips twisting into a bitten-off smile. And not so suddenly, there were long conversations and awkward tears and laughs and kisses and stolen glances and the tantalizing hope of so much more.

“Because,” Red breathed, pulling back, fingers falling from their grip in Lance’s uniform and ghosting along his legs before settling back in his own lap. His touch left trails of warmth along Lance’s frosting skin. And Lance thought a thousand possibilities sparking between them, “I - I want to protect you.”

Lance met Red’s eyes and saw a thousand fears refracted in his violet irises.

“I can take care of myself.” Lance pouted, crossing his arms and turning back to the sight of the city, thoughts too distracted by Red’s steady gaze and steadfast morals. He was well aware of his own failings: the moments when he pushed his powers too far and felt the bite of frostbite on his fingers or the cold stagnation of his muscles and the quiet bursting of blood vessels in his lungs. His limitations were suffocating.

He chewed on his bottom lip, skin stinging as he huffed chilled breath. Lance flicked his gaze to Red, defending himself with a sharp snap, “I’m not this city’s second best hero for nothing.”

But that’s all he’d ever been. Second. First behind the Black Paladin, his hero, who fought with strength and intelligence that made others want to follow. But the second he’d fallen in battle, Red had taken his place, stepping into his shoes in more ways than one.

Red huffed a laugh, warmth flickering across Lance’s cheeks and eyes dancing along the skyline, tracing the damages to the buildings and the half-finished construction from past battles. “Yeah,” Red swallowed hard, struggling for his words, “I know, sharpshooter.”

Lance’s breath caught in his chest, snowflakes sticking to his ribs. His eyes watched the way Red played with the handle of his swords, small tassels dangling from the wakizashi. On one of their nights on this roof, Lance had asked Red about his swords and the samurai had gone into a two hour conversation about the historical inaccuracies. Lance was lost after the first ten minutes, but enjoyed watching the way Red’s eyes lit up and the cute heated blush that dusted his pale skin.

“You know?”

“Yeah,” Red sighed as if that was all the explanation Lance needed. The small vote of validation had his heart soaring and the sting of frostbite in his fingertips aching. The samurai ran a hand through his hair, ends singeing when his fingertips twirled them. “Just after Sh - Black,” he stumbled, cursing under his breath before continuing, “I don’t know if I’d be able to help myself.”

Their eyes met and Lance grabbed Red’s jaw, fingertips burned on the heat of Red’s cheeks and causing strands of his hair to drip with condensation.

“I can protect myself, Samurai,” Lance whispered, leaning forward, eyelids drooping.

“So could Black, but you never know what’ll happen out there.” Red’s voice was a hoarse whisper, a small crack in the fiery exterior he displayed. Lance could feel his breath catch under the chill of his fingertips.

“But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

Red leaned forward, lips brushing, tentative and searching. “I would protect you over anyone else out there,” dipping so their foreheads were pressed together and eyes squeezed closed, “Over any mission.”

Lance chuckled, winding his other hand into the tufts of hair that steamed on Red’s neck. “Like you wouldn’t now?”

Red huffed a laugh, full of derision and acceptance. His hands trailed thin lines along the outsides of Lance’s thighs, delicate touches like the fragile beginnings of a fire.

They leaned forward for a chaste kiss, a gentle thing. Soft touch, hesitant and promising.

When they parted a breath’s width, Lance’s fingers ran along the ribbons tying Red’s mask. His eyes were closed as he drifted forward, cheekbones steaming as they brushed. Lips breathed frosted air over the shell of Red’s ear, “I want to see you, Red.”

“Keith,” Red stuttered, hands gripping Lance’s hips a little tighter, fingers like branding irons. Lance pulled back, searching the concern and embarrassment painting Red’s features the same color as his mask. “My name’s Keith.”

“Lance,” he responded, a hopeful smile breaking out on his lips.

“Lance,” Keith repeated as if tasting the name on his tongue, and with the small smile, Lance was sure he enjoyed it.

He rolled the edge of the ribbon between his fingers, soaking the fabric with frosting fingers in the radiating heat of Red’s hair. “Can I?” Lance’s whisper was a fragile thing on their shared roof.

Keith nodded softly, and Lance pulled the ribbon, enjoying the feel of the knot giving. The strange moment of intimacy in the place where they’d gotten to know each other, overlooking the city they protected side by side. The mask shifted on Keith’s nose, sliding down and relieving a slight smattering of freckles.

The sound of helicopter blades jolted them apart. His hearts hammered, yanking hard on Red’s ribbon and pinning it back to his face. Glaring up at the reporting leaning from the edge of the helicopter with a camera zoomed in on them, Keith jumped to his feet, pulling Lance wit him.

Grabbing his mask with both hands, Keith fumbled to tie it back on securely with trembling fingers. He sprinted towards the edge of the roof, sneakers splashing in the puddles and flared armor rhythmically tapping his thighs.

With a small growl, Lance flicked his wrist and covered the camera lense in a thin film of ice to block the sight of them. There was a flurry of frantic hands to get visual on the top two best heroes in this city of monsters.

Catching Keith halfway across the roof, Lance called out, “Red!” He marched after him, forming a large wall of ice from the small puddles that surrounded the air conditioner, ignoring the bite of frost on his fingertips. Keith paused, eyes wide and white-knuckled grip on one of his swords. “Tomorrow? Starbucks on 15th and Market, 3 o’clock?”

Keith simply nodded before jumping off the roof and sprinting across the buildings, avoiding the watchful eye of the press.

Lance slumped against the wall of ice, for once feeling like his body was on fire.

Keith had been right. This was dangerous, but wasn’t that something every hero lived for?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! I'm debating on making a sequel if this is well received, so please tell me what you think!
> 
> Comments and kudos literally make my day, and I love to hear your thoughts!!
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com) or give me writing prompts!!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3


End file.
